Alliance
by naberforthprickles
Summary: Say Catherine got her wish and Colin had succeeded. What's a Scot to do? Especially the Queen of Scots! Mary's going to have to forge new alliances if things are going to go in favor of her country. Unless, of course, a high blooded Frenchman will take her anyway. (Pairing not decided!)
1. Chapter 1: Pilot

Chapter One: Pilot

_"Don't drink the wine."_

When Mary was offered the goblet, she smiled with grace and handed it off so as not to drink. Colin, Lola's love, didn't notice this, and merely smiled and nodded with a gentleman's grace before seeing himself off. Lola scrambled to go after him, but seeing Mary standing, she went to her queen's side instead, her pink dress flowing out over her pale, graceful legs. Mary smiled down at her friend, feeling the love between Colin and she even has he strained against it. She wanted Lola's happiness, and saw in him the makings of a wonderful spouse for her young friend.

Make no mistake, Lola and she had always had their quarrels as children. Even as Mary was her ruler, Lola was in love with her way, and Mary, hers. Lola was the little lady to Mary's boyish play. They stepped on each other's toes more often than Mary cared to admit, but Lola was, of her friends, the most honest when it came to her faults and her strengths. Mary enjoyed that Lola would tell her when she was wrong or dangerously close to falling in error. The other girls were frightened Mary would be angered, but not Lola, fiery as she was.

Mary touched Lola's hair and smiled, hoping to lighten her friend's sour mood. She knew that Lola was somewhat jealous of Colin's show of chivalry. She hoped she would learn to understand that he had his obligations and that Lola would come second to him until they were wed. After all, Mary was his queen, and he, her servant from Scotland. She might have been slotted to rule France alongside Francis, but her first people, her truest, would always be from her home.

"Oh, Lola come. Take off your shoes and dance." She addressed her other companions, "Come! Shoes off, dance with me!"

She watched the smiles grow on Kenna's face and the others' and she led them out into the centre of the room, joining hands and moving gracefully in patterns they hadn't mimicked since they were young. She broke off from the others and spun with Lola gleefully, laughing all the while and forcing Lola to erupt in her hearty, sweet laughter that rang like bells throughout the ballroom. She watched some of the French join them, learning what it was like to dance with the Scots. She smiled and waved at them as they flew past her with gowns spinning out around them in brilliant colours.

The ballroom was alight with shining crystals and fresh burning torches. They gave off a hearty light, and made the whole room feel like a home. Mary couldn't stop herself from thinking about how wonderful it was.

She was so caught up in the beauty of it all that when Sebastian caught her, she didn't even realize she'd tripped over her gown.

"Oh," She gasped, heart beating wildly from her exertion, "Sebastian, I'm so sorry I-"

"Are you alright?"

Both she and Sebastian turned as Francis joined them, his fingers brushing her shoulder and discreetly pulling her from his half-brother's grasp. Sebastian looked put out, but crossed his hands behind his back as Mary smiled at Francis and told him that all was well. He must remember her clumsiness from when they were small. She continued to babble as Sebastian looked on, quite saddened, yet highly amused by her. He picked up a fresh goblet from one of the tables and handed it to her as she continued with Francis. She took a sip gratefully and set it down again.

"Mary!" Greer joined them gaily and Mary turned to her with sparkling eyes. "Come, we've something important to do!"

Mary smiled at Francis, then Sebastian, and left them as Greer stole her away. Sebastian watched her go, still enjoying her presence, even as he watched it walk away. Of course, she had to have donned a dress that struck her nicely at the waist. He loved the way a woman's figure looked in her dresses, and Mary might drive him half mad with his want of her. He and Francis would always be different on this matter. Francis preferred that half-witted wench who indiscreetly snuck into his bedchambers, while Sebastian knew where the real woman was in this castle. Mary would be the death of them both if she wasn't careful, because Francis would ride until his death to get away from her, and Sebastian would be damned before he let his brother have her.

* * *

Mary watched in awe as Elizabeth was bedded. She was half sickened and half jealous, watching the slightly older girl be taken by a man who Mary could only imagine loved her very much. She wondered if Francis and she would be like these two by the time their wedding rolled around. She felt that Francis was already changing towards her, after her fall into Sebastian's arms. It was either duty towards her, or jealousy at his brother. And why shouldn't he be jealous? Mary was good enough to be fought over, wasn't she?

As Elizabeth and her husband grew silent, Mary led the others away with a finger held to her lips and told them to separate for fear of getting caught. They did so with swishing skirts and secret smiles, running up stairs and down quiet corridors. Mary watched them go, laughing to herself before returning to the ballroom, and to Francis who excused himself to speak to her. She looked up at him through her lashes and allowed him to pick a stray feather from her hair.

"I wanted to say I was sorry earlier Mary, but my brother—"

"I hoped to apologize as well. I shouldn't have intruded on your privacy."

He smiled and blinked. Lord, Mary thought, he had such lovely eyelashes. As pretty as his eyes. As it was, Francis was a finely built man. He had slim shoulders, not bulky and tense with muscle like his brother's, and his chest was flat and hard, though, again, not quite like Sebastian. He had beautiful bones that pulled his skin taut and showed delicacy that Mary rarely saw in men. Scotsmen were rugged and, truth be told, quite the barbarians. Francis was special indeed.

"Mary," Francis murmured, stepping slightly closer to her and continuing to pick feathers from her hair, "you look beautiful, I didn't get to tell you earlier."

"Th-thank you." Mary said, cursing herself for stuttering. She wasn't used to compliments from boys, first of all, and second, she'd never _enjoyed_ such compliments.

"I hope I haven't angered you. There were other ways of handling it, earlier."

"Handling what?" Mary asked, feeling the elation brought on by his sentiment falling to pieces at her feet. She knew she oughtn't let her tongue get the best of her, but her old sense of pride, and her sense of rightness, overruled her for the moment. "Handling me? You _do _realize we're going to be married some day."

"Believe me," He sighed, "I know."

"I know you had a life before I got here—"

"It's not about that." Francis argued, reaching out to catch her arm as she dragged herself away from him, forcing herself to wake from the dream.

"Don't you think we owe it to each other? To our families? To our countries? Just to give it a chance?" She cried out, wanting so hard for her ideas about love to be true.

He looked ever frustrated, "It's not that simple—"

"Not that simple?! What's not simple? We've been engaged since we were six. How awful must you find me to do this?" Mary asked, hating that this was how he felt.

"It's not you! You're…you're beautiful and clever and unpredictable. But it doesn't matter. What matters is what's right for my country. France is not as strong as you might think, or care, which maybe you don't. But I do. I'm going to be king one day, responsible for my people. And right now, an alliance with Scotland could destroy France."

He explained it all with a straight face, void of emotion or regret. Mary felt tears building and sweat beneath her arms as she fought to stay calm. Her body continued to fight against her as her skin broke out in goose pimples and her legs began to tremble like they did when she was scared or cold.

"You don't want to marry me. You don't want this at all." Mary whispered, not wanting to say the words.

"Things could change." He stated as a half-formed apology for his wretchedness.

"Well it isn't your decision is it? It's your father's."

He replied with a grim smile, as if he had finally come to a point he could argue without getting himself into trouble. It was something Francis loved: to get into a quarrel and finally see his win in sight. "You don't see him pushing the wedding either do you? All engagements do, really, is hold alliances. He's betting we might need Scotland, I'm betting we'll find support elsewhere. I know it's not what you want to hear—"

"That you won't love me. You won't let yourself." She said coldly.

"Love is irrelevant to people like us. We who are so privileged in so many ways. All I'm asking you to do is wait, see how things go." Francis pleaded, not that it mattered. What could she say but yes? She was the woman, damned to an eternity of "yes sirs" and "of course sirs".

She satisfied herself with a small bit of rebellion, "See how things go _for France._ I guess it is simple after all. But you aren't the only one with a country to think of."

Mary stormed away, not feeling as if she needed to cry in her rage. What was wrong with this man? That he wished nothing for them two. He was a child, she decided. He was an arrogant child who thought only of what he wanted. How could he imagine that Mary would be unconcerned by his ignorance of her country? The idiot. He thought that once they married she would let go of her home and join him in rule of France without a backwards glance?

As she stomped her feet up the stairs, she walked past men who smiled awfully as she went. She wished she weren't a lady then and she could step on their toes and tell them off. But here she was, the queen of Scots in all her glory.

She was to her bedchamber when she noticed Sebastian standing beside the door. He handed Mary a collar and smiled to her with twinkling eyes. "Sterling is it? We found him. He's in the stables but I'll bring him to you tomorrow, yes?"

"Oh," Mary said quietly, "Yes, thank you Sebastian. Goodnight."

She left him in the hallway and stepped into her room without another word, placing the collar on her night table and waving away her assistant as she stripped her dress away.

If anything had been gained in her change of home, it was her bedchamber. The convent had left her with the necessities, but her room in France was beautiful and had such character. The architecture alone was lovely, but the furnishings-which her new handmaid said had been specially made for her in gold and red-were of beautiful colour and comfort. She'd never thought to love something as material as a room, but she did care for it very much. Even with her cheerful, wonderful chambers, she couldn't forget her problems, though.

She removed the rest of her garments and then slipped into nightclothes, hoping tonight wouldn't get any worse than it already was. How could it anyway?

* * *

She dreamt of Elizabeth's bedchamber. She was being undressed and scented with fragrant oils, something Francis would like no doubt. She cringed at the smell of chamomile and nudged it away from her skin. When Francis appeared in front of her, she looked up at him with her features straight and her heart beating much faster than she intended it to. Mary was wed, and Francis was about to bed her.

The room looked different from the inside. The walls seemed closer to her, as if the room had constricted from the time Elizabeth was taken by her new husband. The bed, she felt, was larger than life. It looked comfortable enough, but in the back of her mind, she knew it would be anything but, if she would lose her maiden status in it. She had never directly addressed her wedding night, but she understood that more often than not, it would bring pain.

He backed her against the down mattress, his smile soft and eyes like a child. When his lips came down on hers, she jolted in surprise and he laughed, soft and enchanting.

"The only people that matter," He whispered, caressing her cheek, "are us."

She laid back between the curtains of the bed, watching Francis lean over her and pull her nightgown up over her legs. She erupted in goose pimples and he grinned at her again, a laugh like a gasp shaking through him. His legs settled on either side of her and she made a noise of fear as his fingers pulled the gown over her hips.

She knew her friends must be outside, behind the screen like before. She wondered if they were watching and laughing with each other and wished she could be with them, instead of here as Francis touched her in places so intimate, even she quaked at the thought of going there. As it was, when her handmaid bathed her she flinched violently. She began to realize she wouldn't be able to take it when it began, and shut her eyes tightly so as not to have it burned in her memory as a picture. She preferred just a feeling of pain, than a whole horrid experience.

When it began, it was slow, gentle, and with hands holding her waist. Her lips let a small noise escape and a deep rumble sounded above her, like a chuckle. Her eyes opened a crack and Francis was gone. In his place, was his strapping half-brother.

She'd learned to find Sebastian a comfort, but still, felt extreme awkwardness at all the touching her skin experienced. Oh, it was _nice _enough. Gentle, and warm wherever he touched. But in the same vein, wherever he touched felt wrong because, well, she knew who was supposed to be here. Francis…where was he?

She wondered if she closed her eyes, would he be back? Would that return him to her, where he belonged? She liked the feel of Sebastian's warm smile, but she felt she ought to try and make things right.

Goodness, even her dreams required her to be a proper lady.

Her lids shut and then she waited a moment, opening them once more and finding herself in a panic.

What was Lola's Colin doing here? She felt a shake of fear run through her body and moved to ward him away. Instead his hand covered her mouth and as she screamed, he whispered his apologies, saying he would never forgive himself. He told her to tell Lola he loved her, and that it was all against them anyway. _"Tell her she ought to be happy without me." _He said. _"I am so sorry, My Queen."_

* * *

She woke, her eyes streaming with tears and her head swimming with half finished thoughts and odd, mixed memories. She tried to tell herself it was all a dream, but she felt a strange pain between her legs, and…stickiness. Oh goodness, no…

When she lifted the sheets from her body she choked on her bile, finding her nightgown ripped and her sheets bloodied. She thought that she was silent, and that the roaring in her ears was the blood rushing to her cheeks in utter embarrassment at being pushed into such a situation. She realized the roar was her hoarse voice as the guard's entered her room, along with her handmaid. The men took one look at the blood on the sheets and stepped out of the room as her handmaid wrapped her in a dressing gown and led her to the bath.

Mary had to wait as it was filled, shivering in disgust as she thought of her dream. She could not have slept through it. It was impossible. How could she possibly have stayed asleep as someone…some _man _joined her in her bed and—and raped her?

She was bathed and redressed, and as she came out into her main chamber, she found her friends sitting around the room. She looked to Lola only, the centre of their group, and obviously the most distressed. With her hair hanging limp around her face and her old, plain dress hanging from her frame, she looked old and haunted. She stood slowly, holding a shawl around her shoulders for warmth as Mary looked her over.

"Colin came to see me in the middle of the night," she sniffed, "He said that he would try to get away. He asked that you forgive him."

"For what?" Mary asked, not believing what she was hearing.

"Oh Mary, could you really be so cruel?!" Aylee exclaimed, reaching out and hugging Lola fiercely. Lola dissolved into tears, burying her face in Aylee's neck as the others comforted her. Mary watched in awe and disbelief. It had only been a dream. She was sure that it had only been a dream!

"I-I'm sorry, Lola, I thought-"

Lola looked up at her, tears streaking over her freckled skin. She looked like a complete mess as Mary walked into her and tried to hug her. For a moment, Lola cried into Mary's hair. As Mary whispered soothing things to her, telling her it wasn't her fault, she tensed and swept herself away. The look Mary met was staggering. She felt as if Lola wanted to burn her to ashes where she stood. What was the saying? If looks could kill?

"You're the reason he's dead." She said dangerously, "Anyone who's close to you lives in constant danger. We're disposable, all of us."

"No you're not. I _need _you! You're my friends!" Mary cried.

"Kenna is my friend. Greer and Aylee are my _friends. _You are my queen and we're your subjects. We're here in service to you. Whatever that means, whatever it _costs _us." Lola's tears rolled over her cheekbones in defeat.

"I will protect you." Mary said, trying to goad Lola back into her arms.

"You can't even protect of yourself."

The words stung. Lola looked not unhappy when she spoke, as if giving Mary a piece of her mind was something she needed badly. Mary felt her chest rising and falling rapidly and she stepped back unconsciously, turning from her own bedchambers and leaving the room. She shut the door behind her with a click and leaned against it, breathing heavily and closing her eyes. Her palms were sweaty and she wiped them carelessly on her skirts, suddenly missing the convent she'd been raised in. She missed Rose, and all of the ladies who tutted over her dirty fingernails. She missed the breakfasts of barely warm porridge and the smell of hay that surrounded everything she owned. Most of all, she missed her peace, which seemed would be invaded forever in this castle. Her lids popped open and there stood Sebastian, looking at her with a kind smile and a leash in his hand.

Sterling's friendly panting reached her ears suddenly as if they'd been blocked by cotton, she bent to hug him and whisper sweet hellos in his ears. Sterling barked and licked her hand and her chin, she wiped the spittle away and took the leash from Sebastian as she stood up again. He nodded to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping away a tear from her eyes, "It's just been so hard."

"I know." He bowed his head to her and stroked Sterling's muzzle.

"So much harder than I thought it would be." She added needlessly.

He reminded her, "You're not alone here."

Wasn't she? She didn't feel answering in negation would help the situation. "I have my friends."

"I'm not talking about your friends."

"Right. Thank you, Sebastian, truly." She said with a bow.

She wanted to say much more. Sebastian was such a good man, after all of the wretchedness of men she'd witnessed since she'd arrived, he seemed to make up for it. Aylee could tell her about his womanizing nature all she pleased, but Sebastian was a soul much like hers. She hoped, that when Francis came around, he would be a wonderful brother in-law.

She felt the question coming on, and again, her body betrayed her. Beneath her arms, she felt dampness, as well as against the small of her back. Her corset felt too tight and in her hope to move on, she began to look around, wishing he would leave. The bannister was polished and shining as the late morning sun filtered in through a high window, the paintings on the walls glared down at her morbidly, and she took in Sebastian's sun-warmed skin and grimy clothes. Never had she wanted to be close to a man like this, and yet, she hated his presence so much.

"Mary," He said quietly, "Are you…quite alright?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She said with ferocity_. Not with you, not while I like being with you. _

Sebastian looked at her, hurt and taken aback. A part of her blushed as she remembered the role he played in her dream. She exhaled in a shaky breath and blinked slowly. Sterling strained at his collar by her feet and she hushed him before turning back to Sebastian.

"I need to speak with your father."

"That's a good thing." Sebastian said, "He wanted to speak with you."

* * *

She was led inside and immediately took her place before the king and queen. It was odd seeing King Henry without Sebastian's mother by his side. He was so open about her being a part of himself. Mary didn't mind it so much, she found the lady's presence quite unnerving. Instead she focused on Francis' mother, who looked down her nose at her and smiled like she was looking at a foul smelling peasant child that she didn't mean to offend.

The throne room was gold and red, decorated lavishly, just as King Henry would want. The windows that lined either side gave view to the water down one side, and to cobblestones on the other. They went from floor to ceiling, finished in wondrous arches, and shone as if they'd only just been shined. The thrones followed the colour trend of the rest of the room, a beautiful gold and lucious red that boasted of expense.

"Good morning." King Henry said, nodding to her as she curtsied. He seemed much too normal for a morning like this.

"Your Grace." She said quietly.

"I imagine you are here to learn about the boy. Rest assured, he's been found."

"Thank you…Your Grace." She'd hesitated, wondering if Lola had been right.

"And beheaded," He paused to watch Mary's reaction. She flinched but, overall, kept calm, "And of course, your arrangements are being made as we speak."

Mary looked at them in confusion, "Arrangements?"

"For your safe return to Scotland, of course." The King explained as if he were speaking to a particularly dense child. Mary felt it was appropriate, as she wasn't quite understanding it all. What was he saying?

"But…the wedding…"

"Why, you can't expect the marriage to continue!" Lady Catherine exclaimed, looking at Mary like she was half mad.

Mary was shocked at the words, internally, and visibly. Her eyes widened at what Catherine had proclaimed. She took a step back as if moving away would help her see the words better, and maybe help her make sense of it.

"I—"

"You are no longer a virgin, Mary. And we cannot allow you to marry Francis. Why, it would go against everything we've promised our people!"

"Promised? You made me a promise! You promised Francis to me when I was six years old!" Mary said indignantly.

"Really, Mary, you were promised to _Francis._" The King answered.

"You chose me! To be engaged to your son! My whole life, I've been prepared to be married to _your son. _What can you expect me to do? I have a country to rule!"

"Mary," Catherine said, voice soft, "You cannot _possibly _think, that any man—any royal—would be able to marry you now. You've been taken!"

"I was raped! How can you possibly—"

"We are sorry," Henry interjected, "There is no more we can do for you."

"No more? _No more?"_

She'd gone too far, King Henry's hands clenched on the armrests of his seat. He rose from his chair and stood above her, looking down his nose at her and pursing his lips in anger.

"We are sorry," He repeated, "There is no more we can do for you."

She curtsied hurriedly, not wanting to gain his wrath, "I—I apologize, Your Grace. Thank you, for your patience." She looked to Lady Catherine, "My Lady."

With a final curtsy, she stepped out of the room, feeling stupid and awkward and finding her exit quite unsatisfactory. If she weren't in France she could have made a scene. How dare they? She was raped, not sullied on a night of drunken men and laughter in her bedchambers. She'd woken screaming in her bed and they wouldn't take mercy on her? She expected more, really.

"Mary?"

She looked up as she walked back to her room and found Francis hurrying to catch up to her. The grounds were green and blowing gently in the wind as she halted, fuming at him. She would have preferred to go back to her room and sleep forever.

Francis was wearing rumpled clothes and looked bedraggled as if he'd been pulled from his sleep and forced to leave his room. His hair was tangled and stuck up in the left side. With his appearance, Mary could only imagine that he'd just heard. Really, he must have been going to see his parents, to find out exactly how he was supposed to act in the situation.

"Are you alright?"

She glared at him from beneath a shadow of hair and replied, "As if you care."

"Mary!" Francis exclaimed. "Of course I care. You were—"

"Yes, I was your friend. I will only ever be your friend because I cannot marry you."

"You—"

"You've heard me, Francis. I'm not a virgin. And now I will have to find a way to rule Scotland somehow else. So if you'll excuse me while I plan my rule—"

"Mary wait! We've…we've been promised to each other."

"No. I was promised to you and that's all it was. A promise. Made by a king. Like what you said about keeping alliances. You're father never meant for us to marry."

"He would not promise me to you—"

"_Me _to _you._"

"If he didn't mean it."

"Yes, Francis he would. And since I am not a promise you cared for anyway, why does it matter? Why must you follow me and make me hate everything even more? Go away, Francis. It's not like you wanted to marry me anyway."

And then she left him as she went back to her room, eyes blurry and red.

**A/N:**

**So I've just started watching Reign, and I do really like it! I started this chapter after the first episode when Francis was being an idiot so at first I thought this story would be about Mary and Sebastian. Things have changed though, so I'm figuring it all out which is FUN. **

**Please Review! Let me know if I should keep going. And should I do a chapter for each episode or what? (Like a chapter based on each one, not a chapter after each one because that would be nuts)**


	2. Chapter 2: Snakes In The Garden (Part 1)

Chapter Two: Snakes In The Garden (I)

When Sebastian came to her the next morning, she allowed him a seat in her bedroom as one of her maids redressed her in the bath chamber. She knew that it was very unlike a monarch to do so, but couldn't be bothered, as she was so unhappy. Sebastian had been kind to her and Francis had been unkind. There wasn't much else to think about at that point and they all knew it. So Kenna, Aylee, Greer, and Lola stayed away for the moment.

"Yes, Sebastian? Thank you for your patience." She returned with her hair very slightly damp and a black dress covered by a coat with gold wreaths and lapels.

"Mary," he bowed, smiling devilishly at her, "Francis has asked me a favour."

"What is it?"

He waved at the door, signalling she should follow him. They went down the stairs together as he explained. "Charles is going to meet his fiancée, Madeleine. Francis is planning on taking him, and he'd like you to go along."

"We aren't even—"

"He knows. He'd like to speak with you, Mary. And a long carriage ride will stop you from getting away."

Mary huffed, "So he's capturing me for the day, is that it?"

"Go on, Mary. It might make you happier. Francis hates what's happened as much as you do."

She scoffed and turned to him as they reached the base of the stairs. Her hand was on his arm, forcing him to face her too, "Francis does not care. He never wanted this in the first place."

"Yes, he did."

"Sebastian-"

"You don't know my brothers as well as I do, Mary. I know that he cares."

"Well if he cares so much then why didn't we ever set a date for the wedding? Why did we say nothing to each other but for yelling about how our countries matter more than us?" She snapped indignantly.

"Because it's true, isn't it?" He asked quietly.

She dropped her hand and folded her arms across her chest instead, leaning against a wooden pillar carved with cherub faces. She had to admit that her ex-fiancé and his parents were a little over the top when it came to their decorating sense, she remembered wooden pillars that were plain and held the castle up alright.

Sebastian started again, "Look, Mary, your alliance to Francis would change if you saw an opportunity, wouldn't it? What if we couldn't help you with something and someone else could?"

"I would stay loyal to the alliance I made."

"Except you didn't make it. Your parents did."

They were silent as they stared each other down. Sebastian, Mary noticed, had startling blue eyes. She'd looked at him countless times but she hadn't truly paid it mind. His face was framed with dark hair like silk and his lips were smooth and red, almost swollen looking. She had the same odd jolt from before, remembering that mouth on her neck as her fingers clutched his hair possessively. She clenched her hands into fists and pushed off the pillar with her skirts swishing around her.

"Fine. Let's go."

* * *

"Mary—" Francis began, smiling politely and reaching a hand out for hers.

She replied coldly, "Francis."

She proceeded to enter the carriage without another word and he heard her say hello to Charles warmly. Charles laughed from within and Francis looked at his half-brother with pursed lips.

"Don't look for my pity, Francis. Do right by her." Sebastian said in his deep voice.

"You'll make sure they don't know?"

His brother looked at him like he was half-mad for even asking. Francis breathed a laugh and stepped into the carriage behind Mary, taking a seat opposite her and the young prince. Mary and Charles spoke gaily as they bumped along and Francis watched their progress out of the window, periodically—or frequently—looking to see if Mary was looking at him. She never was.

After a time, he lost interest in the outside world and returned his gaze to the other side of the carriage, where his ex-fiancée was perched beside his young brother. They whispered to each other and giggled behind their hands, Mary's hair falling into her eyes more often than not. Francis realized that he loved Mary's hair. If he'd ever had the chance to bed her, he would have done it stroking her hair, the way he never had with the other women he'd been with. Back then, it was about the pleasure he could take from a woman, but had he and Mary been given the chance, he began to realize he might have enjoyed it if _she _did.

"Charles," Francis interrupted, "would you like to run behind the carriage? Aren't your legs sore?"

Had Charles been a few years older, he would never have agreed. Both because he would be much too lazy, and because he would know Francis was sending him away. Instead, the little boy grinned brightly and Francis called to the driver to slow. Francis made sure two of their riders stayed with his brother before returning to the carriage, where Mary sat. She looked at him pointedly, pretty hair flowing over one shoulder and baring her neck on the other side. Why did he want to stroke her neck and kiss her? He thought it strange and somewhat dirty and discontinued such notions. He felt Mary might be able to read his line of thought from his eyes.

"I cannot convince you that I am sorry, can I?" He said quietly.

"No," she replied tersely, "you can't. I won't believe you."

"Mary, I feel that I...have been very harsh. I am sorry for what's happened to you, and what it's done to us."

"Nothing you say will make it true. And nothing you say will fix it." She said, her voice still flat.

"May I show you, then? Later?" He asked hopefully

"I suppose you'll try whether I agree or not. What am I to do? Close my eyes whenever you come around?"

He smiled, "I wouldn't put it past you, Mary."

She returned the smile with a severe look and called for the driver to stop again. She stepped out gracefully, and called to Charles, who eagerly joined her on their slow trail to the water. Francis knew not to interfere a second time. He stayed inside the carriage instead and touched his head to the window frame, closing his eyes and breathing in and out slowly. He wished Mary was easy to persuade, but of course his ex-fiancée had to be the most stubborn woman in all of Europe. A statue ought to be erected with such a title. He wasn't sure if that characteristic made him angry, or just made her more appealing.

He didn't know how to fix things with her when she wouldn't even speak to him and refused to look at him when they were together. But he had told her that he would prove himself and he had to. He wished with all his life that he hadn't grown to care for her well-being. He was worried he might have actually fallen in love with her. God, but she was impatient! And rude, and naïve, and fanciful. Oh, what had he gotten himself into?

The carriage stopped and he realized he'd spent over an hour thinking about Mary and none about Charles and Magdelene—Madeleine. Great. He was supposed to welcome her and introduce them but he could barely remember her name. Not only that, she was six years old and he was going to have to sit with her if Mary and Charles carried on this way! What if the little girl talked too much? He'd be dead.

"Francis!" Charles yelled, "English ships! Francis!"

He barrelled out of the carriage and stepped up beside Mary and Charles. His hand came down on his brother's shoulder and Mary's, steering them towards the company. Even under the circumstances, Mary cringed away from him. His hand stayed firm though, and he nudged her up to one of the riders.

"You'll be faster if you can go alone. You need to get out of here, Mary. Can you ride?" He asked.

"I...my dress won't allow it, I can't ride side-saddle this way."

"We'll have to rip it then, Mary. May I?"

He bent to rip the fabric as Mary startled. Over the hill, something had caught her attention.

"Don't shoot!"

He turned to see Sebastian's horse stomping up the hill, and then looked at their guards, who were ready with bows. Sebastian was still repeating the words as he rode up to where Francis was readying to rip Mary's dress apart.

"The ship took on water, and England helped them through," Sebastian said quickly, then looked down at his brother with a look of amusement and curiosity, "and it looks like I've missed something."

Mary stepped out of Francis' grasp and moved closer to his half-brother. "So I mustn't go?"

"No," Sebastian said, "greet Madeleine."

Mary nodded and her lips twitched when she and Bash looked at each other. Francis crossed his arms at the shoreline and ignored them.

* * *

When Charles refused to step forward, Francis wasn't sure what to do. His brother looked so fearful, and so did Madeleine, that Mary took it as her duty to make it go smoothly. She moved around Francis and Charles, going to stand above Madeleine. If she could have bent she would, but her dress was constricting and she was nervous of it ripping in front of all of these men, and Francis. She blushed, realizing she hadn't ruled out Bash watching her dress rip. She told herself to turn her attentions to the little girl instead.

"Hello, Madeleine. I am Mary. I know you've had a long journey. But you're safe now, and you're very welcome here."

Madeleine faltered when she curtsied, almost tripping on her skirts. She was so pretty, with huge eyes and curly brown hair. She looked like a little china doll. Her pink dress matched her little rosy cheeks and she suckled her bottom lip as if it were a candy. Mary reached out and stroked her hair, landing her hand on the girl's shoulder and leading her to Charles, who stood in front of Francis, looking at his feet.

"Charles," Mary said, "say hello to Madeleine."

When he finally opened his mouth to speak, Mary smiled, glancing up to find Francis grinning too. At her. Her gaze shifted, and Sebastian was laughing behind his knuckles, he caught her eye and winked jokingly. Despite herself she coughed a laugh and covered her mouth with her hand as Charles looked up at her. She nodded at him encouragingly and he offered Madeleine his arm, just how Francis had taught him, and led her to the carriage.

"Come, Mary." Francis said, reaching an arm out for her.

"No!" Charles yelled, suddenly finding his voice. "I want Bash to come and tell us a story!"

Francis blinked at them both, lips setting in a thin line. He nodded curtly and turned to supervise Madeleine's entrance to the carriage. Charles was already doing a good job of it, he held her hand as she ascended and then followed slowly, allowing her to pick her seat before sitting beside her. Francis returned to her side and looked expectantly at Bash.

"Which one shall I tell them?" he asked, "The one about the three fingered whore I met on the road up to—?"

"A child's story, Sebastian. If you please." Francis said impatiently.

"Bore." He grinned at his younger brother good naturedly and Francis scoffed as he led Mary to a horse.

He took her by the waist and pushed her up into the saddle without effort, rearranging her dress so that it was a decent as possible before petting the mare and readying to climb on.

"I've ridden horses before, I could have gotten on fine." She argued unpleasantly. God's love, he really enjoyed showing how manly he was to outsiders. He was almost unbearable. "And why can't I ride with Bash and the children?"

He shrugged, latching his foot in the stirrup and swinging himself up behind her. She shrieked when he did it, and then blushed when his thighs wrapped around her, lifting her so that she rested against him. It was physically comfortable, but mentally very awkward. She saw a flash of dark hair in the sun when she glanced at the carriage, and then Francis snapped the reins gently so they would go back on their journey.

* * *

They arrived at the castle in the late afternoon and Mary crawled down after Francis, who led her inside. The Englishmen followed them as Sebastian led Madeleine and Charles away, most probably to get the little girl settled. She ought to have been brought before the King first, but her company—the English—took precedence over the matter and she'd just have to wait before she met her father and mother-in-law. Mary was _sure_ they were eager to meet her.

She and Francis led them to King Henry's throne room, where he and Catherine sat together, and Diane stood to the side. She glanced at Mary and Francis and then turned away, looking upon the door to see her son, who was absent.

"Where are the children?" Henry demanded.

"We thought they best get settled as you dealt with more important matters." Francis said, quiet and insistent.

Henry pursed his lips and said, "Very well," looking quite unhappy. He and Diane glanced at each other with mild impatience and Catherine, beside him, inhaled deeply. The Queen of France looked epically annoyed by her husband's foolishness. If he could wait five minutes to bed his mistress, then Mary was sure she was really a milkmaid. She smiled lightly at the thought and looked at her feet as Henry continued with the matter at hand. He spoke words that Mary paid no attention to, and then was introduced to Simon Westbrook, who led the company for no apparent reason. Francis had quietly said he wasn't even on the ship, but that he'd joined the company a mile back to come in to court. He was supposed to be a diplomat, but Mary had never seen a man so battle-ready.

Not only that, he kept looking at her with odd eyes. He seemed amused by her, and yet she knew he was probably plotting to kill her. Very diplomatic, of course, since that was all she knew them to be. If they weren't plotting to kill you as they pretended to look for peace, they weren't doing their job.

"I thank you, Your Majesty." Simon bowed low and then turned to Mary and Francis, bending his head to him, and smirking at her.

He led his men out of the room to go to their quarters, led by members of the guard. Henry dismissed her and Francis as well and then stood with decided purpose, going to take Diane's hand.

"I'll see you tonight at Madeleine and Charles' party. Won't I?" Francis asked when they came to the steps.

"Yes, well, I can't very well _not _come, can I?" Mary replied quietly.

"Mary—"

"I'll meet you there."

He nodded to her and smiled, "Mary, remember, I will get us through this."

"Oh I don't doubt we will get through this. But I doubt things will be alright afterwards, seeing as I can't marry you, and can't marry anyone else either."

"Mary I'm sure we can—"

"Oh, don't tell me, you've given up metal work to become a matchmaker, Francis?"

"Mary." He snapped impatiently.

"I'm sorry."

"Apology," he whispered, "accepted."

When he stepped into her she inhaled shakily and grasped his hand when it ran against her cheek. His knuckles felt rough against her skin, but all the same, elicited such excitement in her that she could barely breathe. Her chin trembled and she looked up at him, feeling hopelessly damsel-like and completely unlike her. She wanted to stomp on her enemies by herself, but frowned when she thought of the cruel situation she had been put in.

"Francis?"

"Yes?"

"If you became my matchmaker…I wouldn't mind so much."

His eyes lit up and he grinned at her joke, laughing behind his hand and shaking his head at her. She had wished to lighten the mood, after all, she wouldn't be stopping any Englishmen without a favour from the future King of France. He smoothed his hair down and then said his goodbyes. "I'm going to go; you ought to get ready for tonight."

"We have hours!"

"And the better you look, the better our little act is going to work."

She sighed and left him at the base of the stairs, ascending the steps and clutching the railing lightly. She came upon the children halfway up and said a quiet hello to them both before whisking away, upwards again and closing the door to her chambers. She squinted in the afternoon sun and was suddenly surrounded by her ladies, who pushed her into her bath chamber to be cleansed—for the second time that day. She grumbled and groaned as Greer and Aylee snickered on the other side of the room. Kenna and Lola were planning her dress for the party, and Mary expected that had something to do with Lola's unhappiness at being in her close vicinity.

She allowed her maids to scrub her skin until it grew raw and red, and then they wrapped her in fluffy robes and placed silk slippers on her feet. She went back into her room and Kenna handed her a petticoat, which she slipped into behind her screen. All the while she was quiet as everyone fretted over her. Her maids were deciding whether to twist her hair or braid it straight down the middle as it dried in the rays of the afternoon sun.

* * *

Mary stayed with Aylee for most of the party. Greer was off scouting for a husband, and Kenna spent much of her time with Lola as she simmered down about Colin. Despite this, Mary felt gay next to her youngest friend. Aylee and she could spend hours watching the children dance, giggling amiably as Charles tripped over the ridiculous white shoes he'd been forced into.

For a moment, Aylee disappeared to speak with Kenna about something that Mary presumed was rather embarrassing, seeing as they both looked serious and glanced at her often. She knew Aylee, when they kept a secret _about _her it was full of false smiles.

She turned away from them to give them privacy, and smiled as Simon Westbrook joined her. In her mind she wanted to wretch and double over in sickness by his false attitude. She wanted him to be true with her, rather than act as if he knew nothing was going on. The English were plotting against her and this overdressed "peacekeeper" wanted to try and hide it? They began their conversation with soft and kind hellos.

"You are English, Lord Westbrook, but you say that you did not come with the warship? You reside in France?" She inquired politely.

"I have a home in Paris, but I often stay at court. Call me Simon, please, so we can be friendly, and frank with one another. Not like the French who simply say what you want to hear. How is your engagement going?" He said in calm, staccato sentences.

"Quite well, we're very happy." Mary smiled over to where Francis stood in conversation.

"Then why haven't you set a date? Charles and Madeleine are only seven, but they'll be wed on her fourteenth birthday. France's commitment to Scotland is _hollow. _They're playing both sides. If you were threatened would they really come to your defense?" Again, his dialogue was fragmented.

"I believe that is the _very definition _of an alliance. But of course you knew that." She said, beginning to find an edge of spite.

"Well I know this from one look at you: you're of age. You should be married."

"Are you proposing? Or are you trying to scare me?" She said incredulously.

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Pack your pretty friends in hopes of salvation, and go back to Scotland."

"And exactly how long before England attacks in full force if I do that? I'm not going anywhere."

He chuckled and took a step back, eyes alight with malice. "Didn't the nuns raise a brave girl? You were sent to them for your protection, as I recall. How was the porridge at the convent? _We _thought it needed a little seasoning. A little something to make the flavor of our intentions clear."

When Francis cut in, Mary was ready to let her sharp tongue throw a retort back at the impetuous Englishman. He deserved what she had to say, but Francis covered her words with an act of utter stupidity and Mary followed suit. She was almost embarrassed to pretend to be head over heels with him when he was acting like such a dolt, and yet she found him quite interestingly funny.

When he pulled her away she was grateful to him and she wanted to tell him so up until she was pressed against the pillar and unable to escape his arms. She was fearful that the English would suspect something if they pushed too hard.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

"Don't move. Don't push me away, you're shaking. You can't show them you're scared." He replied urgently.

She couldn't disagree, she was shaking violently. "He threatened me, _here _at French court. He wanted me to know that they tried to poison me at the convent."

"He's heard things, about my reluctance to marry you."

"Then they're aware that I don't have your country's protection!"

"You do." He argued.

"There are dozens of English here," she whispered, "and hundreds more camped at the coastline."

"But I am at your side. We'll prove to them our union is strong." He promised.

Tears built in her eyes, as unwelcome as they were. "But it isn't."

"Well, they'll think it is before their visit is over." He stepped back and held a hand out to her, "Can you do this?"

She stood for a few counts, taking in his gentle smile of encouragement and the dark, cut suit he wore in honour of his brother's fiancé's arrival. "Absolutely, can you?" She asked.

He grinned at her and nodded and it was all she needed. She had already trusted Francis somewhat throughout this ordeal, and now it was coming to a climax. She would accept his help for now, until the day that she was able to leave it for someone else's. She only hoped that she would find someone else at all.

"Mary?" Henry was suddenly by her side, guiding her by the elbow. Francis looked at his father with some alarm and Henry nodded for him to let go of her so she could be led away. She saw that the Queen was also rounding her ladies up for an audience. Henry lingered at the doorway and passed through when his wife was ahead of him.

They went upstairs to Mary's bedchambers and suddenly the curtains were shut, the fire was blazing, and they stayed in dimness.

"Colin," The Queen said, "was not executed, as we thought."

"There was a mistake, they beheaded the wrong man." Henry interjected.

"Yes, but the _point _is, Colin is free out in the woods, we believe."

Mary looked at her friends and stopped on Lola's face. She looked stricken with too many emotions for a girl who'd just lost everything for her Queen. Her hair was curled, like it always was, but somehow it looked as limp as she did when the news was spoken.

"I must speak with him when you find him." Mary demanded.

"We cannot guarantee that he will be brought alive."

"Well then please, Your Grace," Mary pleaded, "make it so. I can't…leave things this way. He is one of my people, and I must speak to him before he is executed, this time for true."

"He may harm the guards, Mary," Catharine argued stubbornly, "you must understand how this backs us into a corner!"

Mary ignored the woman for all she could. Catharine was not fond of her, but she knew that Henry had developed some feeling of kindness to her somehow. He was greedy, lustful, and distasteful, but he had a certain respect for the Queen of Scots.

"Please, Your Grace. I would be forever grateful to you, I am sure you know this."

Henry looked to his wife who shook her head stiffly and then turned to her again, bowing his head, "I will ask that the boy remain unharmed, so long as he comes without fight. But if he threatens our men _at all _he will be stopped."

"That," Mary whispered, feeling that Simon's encounter and this was happening all too fast and in a blur, "is all I request."

* * *

The morning dawned bright and Mary was fed and then readied for the afternoon. She had become used to odd celebrations like these. She even welcomed them sometimes, though today was not one of them. She could do without having to see the Englishmen in the courtyard at Madeleine's welcome lunch. In any event, hadn't the girl already had a welcome dinner? But the French did things big, or not at all, so Mary was prepared.

She wore a floral white gown and a wreath of roses in her hair. She reminded herself of a princess from the old stories the nuns used to tell. She liked the feel of it, and hoped that someone else would too. The idea of marriage was still in her mind, and she was still relying on Francis to find someone to take his place. It was an odd arrangement, but once she'd joked of him being her matchmaker, he had murmured a few names of non-royals who were well off in money and could help her. They were all beneficial in some senses yes, but she needed _men _and there was no way to do this without a monarch. At the same time, she wasn't _allowed _to marry now that her virtue was sullied, but then, rules always had exceptions where rich kings were involved. Why not now? If she were enchanting enough…

But that wasn't the matter here. Until the Englishmen left, she needed to be Francis' fiancée.

They chatted quietly to each other with his arms around her. He was funny and charming and everything she didn't want him to be. Then again, many of the men she spent her time with shared these qualities, and each was as unattainable as the next.

"Francis," Mary murmured, "I've been thinking…"

"Yes?"

"I—well I know this is a bit ridiculous, really, but…what do you think of your half-brother? Truly?"

Francis grinned, looking slightly confused, "Why, Bash? He's my brother. I care for him as much as Charles. Why?"

"Only that…oh, nothing."

But Francis had already turned her around and he was looking at her with wonder. His brow furrowed and he touched her face as if to reassure himself that she were real and not a figment of his imagination, "Sebastian? He's—he's my father's _bastard._"

"And very close to you. If ever I were to need help. If _we _were to need—"

"Mary! You can't ask this. He's my brother. And he's a bastard boy, it would ruin your reputation." He argued.

"I need a husband to rule! And our ties would be true, whether he is the King, or the brother of the King. Once you are ruler, you can still help me, and you won't have to marry a woman that has no virginity to offer."

"Why can't you trust that I'll do the right thing by you?"

"Because I'm not safe here, Francis! Colin, the boy, said that he was forced to take my virginity by someone at court." She said, not wanting to confide in him, but finding she had no other choice.

"You mean someone French?" Francis hissed.

"They must have been highly placed, with the power to threaten him. And order him executed."

"Those orders came from my parents." He snapped fitfully.

"When I spoke to your parents, even your father seemed suspicious."

"And my mother? Are you accusing her of something?"

She didn't know how to react. Of course she meant his mother! She wanted to _hit _him he was being so dense. Catharine had been cold to her from the moment she'd arrived, and yet here was Francis, acting as if she were a complete idiot. But then, she couldn't hurt him. She had that feeling, deep in her bones, that it was the Queen. But if she was wrong? Could she do this to herself and to him?

She couldn't.

"No."

"Good." He answered with venom, and then he stomped away, making a scene if Mary had ever seen one.

* * *

"I'm not sure who you fear, the English or the French court."

She and Sebastian stood together on the fringes of the party. He looked down at her and wanted to reassure her. He knew he shouldn't feel this way. He never felt this way about women. He was, of his brothers, the womanizer. And not just because he was the only bastard, but because he was supposed to be as greedy as his father. In a way, he still felt greedy. Francis wanted to win Mary's heart—though he wasn't aware yet, and Sebastian wanted it too, though he was only on the fringes of this realization himself.

"The English have threatened me for years." Mary said softly, "But Colin is the only one who knows who at French court wants me gone."

"You think the word of an accused traitor will matter?" Bash asked, wanting to smooth her hair out and calm her, but thinking better of it.

"If the right people believe him, then I believe it might."

She looked at him with her doe eyes and he was already wading too deep. Damn it all, if only she could have been skinny and gap-toothed like Francis had remembered when they were children! Why had she become so pretty, and smart? Well, she'd always been smart, but he would have let a smart girl go. A woman of so many wonders…Sebastian wasn't so sure.

"Alright, I'll go. The best way out of the dungeon is the South Keep. The guards will have a head start but they're not hunters and they fear the woods."

"Why?"

"There is much to fear." He said with a gentle smile, "Dark and dangerous times, Your Grace. But your presence brings light."

Mary smiled—despite herself, Sebastian knew. And then he was gone.

* * *

**A/N:**

**So, season 1 is over! I can't believe it's taken me this long to write the next chapter, and it's only HALF of the second episode, because this one was ****_so _****packed with action and intrigue. I hope you all liked it, and I'll post the next piece as soon as possible! Please review, it really inspires me to write more when I know you enjoy it.**

**And if you're a Teen Wolf fan, please check out my story Human and review there too!**


	3. Chapter 3: Snakes In The Garden (Part 2)

Chapter Three: Snakes in The Garden (II)

Charles called into the darkness quietly, and Mary touched his shoulder. "Charles?"

The boy jumped. His eyes were wide when he looked up at her and his lips parted as if he were ready to scream. His intake of breath fell short when he realized it was her. Instead the child exhaled loudly and shrugged her hand away. Mary smiled at him soothingly and apologized for scaring him, earning a quiet acceptance.

"What are you doing Charles? Madeleine feels like you're ignoring her." Mary said, touching his shoulder again, "Who are you talking to?"

"No one." He said too quickly.

Mary scoffed, "Oh, is that quite so?"

"Oh, alright. I was talking to my friend. She wants me to play with her too, but she gets jealous. She says that when I'm older I won't even remember her." Mary turned to look at the stone archway that Charles had been leaning into, "Don't go in there! She decides when you see her." He commanded.

"That doesn't sound very friendly." She protested.

"But she knows things. Because she goes where she wants, and she sees everything, and she knows people's secrets." Charles explained with excitement in his voice. It was clear to Mary that he had been keeping this secret for a long while.

"This friend, who likes to hide, I think she visited me once." She offered.

"Then you're lucky. She doesn't like people. Most of the time, she doesn't really speak. But I bribe her with things she likes, or play guessing games with her, to learn things."

"This friend," Mary said, looking around to make sure no one was watching, "does she have a name?"

It was Charles' turn to look around. "Clarissa, but don't say I told you."

Mary looked down at the little boy and exhaled slowly. She was concerned for his well-being. She knew now that her protector—Clarissa—was real, but he was _scared _of her. Should she allow her to be about the castle when she was bullying the children to keep her secret? Mary didn't even know who she really was. For all she knew, Clarissa wasn't protecting her at all, but was trying to hurt her, and Charles, and anyone else she came into contact with.

She stepped into the archway.

"Please don't go in there!" Charles called out, but she was already looking around. When she turned to check on him, he had already scurried away.

"Clarissa?" She whispered into the passageway. There was no reply, nor was there any flash of movement where Charles' friend might be. Mary's eyebrows furrowed as she bent to look for footprints, feeling as if she were a hunter looking for a kill. The paved ground was cold when she touched it, and when her hand came away, there was no dust or sand, telling her that it had been swept recently inside. If the girl had even been there, she'd left no trace…

Except for the marble.

Mary bent and picked up the small glass orb, rolling it in her palm curiously. She looked up and down the tunnel once more, and then left, going back to her room in the hope of hiding it for future use, once her plan was settled. She wanted to be able to get Clarissa to talk, and she thought she might be able to, if she had the right approach.

"I—I'm sorry, I don't know you."

It was the first thing that came out of her mouth when she realized that she wasn't alone in her bedroom. A woman, with pretty, straight blonde hair stood before her, in a stunning dress—her dress? The woman looked down in shame and Mary forced herself to inquire about it.

"Your Grace, forgive me. It's so beautiful." Mary, soft-hearted as she was, began to smile, the girl was charming, after all. "The tailor gave it to me and I thought…I should never—_My skin is on fire._ My skin—is—is on _fire_!"

"Is something wrong?" Mary said, her emotions going through a whirlwind to match the scene. She found herself horrified as the woman yelled in pain.

"It's…poisoned…" A shriek erupted from her and Mary was running, screaming for help as she clacked through the passageways in her heeled boots. She was going for the guards, trying to find Francis and the King and _anyone _who could help her. What had the English _done?_

"Mary?" Francis yelled from the end of the hallway she was limping through, "Mary! What's happened?"

"A woman. My—one of the maids she touched one of my dresses. It was poisoned—oh Francis!"

He wrapped his arms around her and beckoned for the guards to run ahead back to her bedchambers while he settled for a brisk walk, clutching her shoulders tightly. "I know you don't want to go back. But if she's gotten out of the room somehow, we'll need to find her."

"Yes, that's alright please, just hurry _up _Francis."

They made it to the doorway, and the woman was nowhere to be found. Francis made her tell the guards what the woman looked like, and he sat her down on her bed so she could regain some of the colour in her cheeks. He held her as she cried and picked out the rose wreath from her hair. His mouth pressed against her forehead, to be comforting, and then the Head of the Guards was back, saying that he hadn't any idea where she'd gone. Again, Mary felt her emotions were changing too quickly, and that her thoughts were a blur in her head.

"Francis," she whispered, "I don't know…the passageway might—"

"Passageway? You have one from this room?" He looked at her curiously

"I—yes you know of them?"

"Of course, they connect the old parts of the castle to the new. I'll have the guards check them. Where is the entrance here?" He nodded to the Head and Mary showed them both the entrance by her changing screen. Francis held her hand when the Head and three other guards went through and she looked at him gratefully.

"Mary, I know that you feel unsafe here, and I am sorry. I…know that you and Sebastian have spoken." He admitted.

She instantly felt ashamed that she'd gone behind his back, "I am sorry if you felt—"

"No," he interrupted, "you deserve to feel comfortable here. This is your home, and if my...my mother has done anything to hurt you, then I am truly sorry and I will remedy this."

"Thank you, for handling this. I know I'm being too sensitive—"

"Someone has threatened your life, Mary, I expect nothing less than this reaction. In fact, I expected much more." She sniffled weakly and he stroked her thumb to soothe her nerves. "You are a very strong woman, Mary. I admire this about you."

She let him go a moment later and he went towards the door, turning back only to say, "A very strong woman, and a stubborn one."

Mary blushed and watched him leave; wanting nothing more to believe she was safe.

* * *

Francis caught his father before he could go up to his chambers, "Father, we need to speak with each other."

"Francis, I am tired and—"

"This cannot wait." Francis argued.

He hated that his father was such a vain man. It would be so much easier if he could take ten minutes away from his bed, whether it be with a woman in it or without. Francis had learned early in his childhood that his father would not sacrifice a moment of sexual interaction, or a moment of slumber, for even the most important needs of his country.

"What then?" He asked impatiently.

"Mary must be better protected. We cannot let her be hurt by anyone."

Henry rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, looking as if he were ever sick of his son's ramblings. He made it seem like Francis was being unreasonable or ridiculous with his request. Meanwhile, the Queen of Scotland's life hung in the balance and he wanted to go and dream of his absent mistress? It was ludicrous.

"I am not being unreasonable, Father."

"No," King Henry sighed, "But I believe that you have grown too attached to a woman you may not marry."

"She is a guest in this castle—"

"And she is my guest, and my responsibility now, not yours."

"Mary is my friend," Francis said, "I can't let her feel unsafe."

"Mary is not your friend, nor is she unsafe here. She is a woman that you have grown to care for, against your better judgement I would assume, and now you are paying the price for such a desire. I cannot protect her _more _than she is already being protected, Francis, there is nothing more for me to do for the girl."

"You can't spare one more guard, one that you _know _you can trust, to keep watch on her?"

"The guards I know and trust are the ones that guard me. I will not assign our guards to Mary," Henry pronounced. He looked shocked and put off by the idea.

"Then I will give her my guards!" He exclaimed in frustration.

"You can't, they take orders from their King."

"Then I will protect her myself."

"And risk more heartache? You, son, are naïve as the girl."

"No, I am compassionate, as Mary wants me to be. She deserves some compassion here; after all she's been through."

"Francis? Henry, what's this?"

"Damn it woman, can't you stay away from me?!" Henry exclaimed, clearly exasperated by the family he kept. "I am going, and you would do well _not _to follow me."

With that, Henry swept up the steps and was gone, leaving Catherine and Francis together in the passageway. She wore a deep red dress and her hair was braided majestically over one shoulder. Francis' mother had prepared well for the evening with the English envoy, who had been spoken to at length concerning Mary's well-being.

"Francis? Is everything—"

"What is wrong with you?"

"I beg your pardon?" She inquired, with an edge in her voice.

"You put a boy to death today." He said, finally voicing what he'd been thinking of since Sebastian had returned, face streaked with blood.

When Bash had finally come back from the woods, he was carrying Colin's body into the castle walls, looking dejected and angry. Unhappy with the outcome of his journey, he'd shrugged Francis off, and went to tell Mary just what had happened. Later he'd told Francis the story, and this only affirmed his belief that Catherine had something to do with Colin's death.

"Two boys, really; one with the sweep of a paint brush—a red X—carelessly applied, and a life over. Another boy slain in the woods." He finished.

"Mistakes were made. We tried to bring Colin back, even though he was a traitor." Catherine replied.

"If he's a traitor than what are you? Who are you loyal to?"

"My family," She hissed, "France. You! As they're one in the same."

"Because you can't trust father and he can't divorce you. I mean, you must wonder what he'd do to you if he could. So you put all your hopes of survival on the _next _King. Me. But Mother, my loyalty won't change because of my marriage to _anyone._

"Mary has come here in good faith, and we cannot leave her unsafe or else…" He trailed off uncertainly. What would she do if she couldn't find a source of comfort?

"Or else what? Is she leaving?" The Queen asked, altogether too hopeful for Francis' liking.

"It _was_ you."

Catherine realized it too late, stumbling over her denial.

"You need to stop this. If _anything _happens to Mary, _anything, _I will suspect you and I won't ask for proof."

Francis stormed towards the arched doorway and then gripped it tightly. He turned back to his mother, in pain of what he'd learned. How could she do this? They had made a deal with Scotland, and now she was trying to get rid of the only person Francis had been able to think of for quite a while. It was now that he'd finally realized it. He looked at his mother, in her ridiculous dress and elaborate hairstyle and thought that he could do better than standing beneath her thumb. He would do better.

His lips parted once more, to finish his earlier thought, "and you will lose me."

* * *

She entered the passageway with a candle in her hand.

"Clarissa?"

She took a few steps further and then settled on her knees, putting the candle beside her and pulling the marbles from the pouch at her waist. She was nervous to be in the dark passageways, especially since it was possible the English had come through here to take her servant away.

"We can play if you want. But I need your help."

Still crouched, she looked back at the light from her bedroom, and then down the dark corridor. She wanted nothing more than to run back to her room and stay put, but she needed answers, and Aylee and her friends would be wondering where she was. If she was going to be interrogated by her friends, she felt she ought to have something to be interrogated for. She placed the marbles on the floor and then returned the candle to her hand.

"If you can hear me, come and find me"

That said, she stood with some struggle and made it only to the entrance of the passageway before the sound of glass pattering across stone met her ears. She turned and looked down. At her feet, were the marbles she'd left.

"Does this mean you'll speak to me?"

She returned to her place farther into the dark corridor and knelt. She was ready to have her answers. And she was confident that only Clarissa could give them to her. A rush of excitement flashed through her as she explained.

"I have a guessing game for you. I'm going to guess something. If I guess right, you roll the marble back to me, if I guess wrong you keep it, it's yours."

She only hoped Clarissa had heard her.

Rolling one marble down the passage, she said, "I think you know who's trying to hurt me."

One marble rolled back.

"Who is it? Is it the English? Is it Queen Catherine? No, I'm sorry, I'll ask one at a time."

She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes with her hands. She needed answers. She needed to be patient. The two marbles she'd rolled at her earlier questions came back and she touched the cool surface of one.

"Is it the English?"

The sound of glass on stone turned into a dreaded crunch, and Mary suddenly knew that her audience with the ghost of the castle was over. She couldn't believe this! Where were her—

But she'd guessed two things, and two marbles had rolled back.

"Clarissa? Clarissa! No I—"

She knelt where the broken marble shards lay, and lifted the key that her protector had left for her. _Here,_ she thought,_ are my answers._

Standing slowly, Mary regained her balance and swept out of the corridor and into her bedroom, snapping the door shut behind her. She looked around her room, formulating her next move. _Well, _she thought, _if there is a key, there must be a lock._

* * *

Mary returned to her bed that night feeling as if many things had gone wrong. Simon Westbrook had duped her, Francis and she had made a mess of each others' feelings, and worse, the English knew. She and Francis had put up a brave act, but nothing could be done about the servants and their mouths. Oh, her virginity was not spoken of, but the broken engagement had reached the ears of many. Recalling the last events of her evening, she pulled the bed linens tightly around her.

_She'd been trying keyholes all evening with no luck, until she came upon Simon Westbrook's door and found her maid and the English envoy in bed together. The woman left with red in her cheeks and a sheet of the same colour around her shoulders. Mary had clenched her teeth and waited for her to leave, wanting to tear her hair out. She felt childish for thinking so, but it was the truth, all the same. _

_"You staged her poisoning to terrorize me! Why would you do such a thing? To show me what you're capable of? You showed me that at the convent. England shows me that every time you attack our borders!"_

_"No," he whispered close to her ear, "you need to fear us here, at French Court. Because you being here angers us very much."_

_"You threaten me, but it is the English who are afraid." She snapped, "There are rumours that your Queen is ill, and my cousin, Elizabeth, is the next in line for the throne. But many say she is illegitimate. Bastard born."_

_"And they say that the next rightful heir to the English throne is you." Simon finished in a hiss, sounding pained at the proclamation._

_"But what if I don't want it? What if all I want is for England to leave Scotland in peace?" Mary said, her voice rising._

_ "Show us you're not a threat. That you are not here to wed the next King of France for his armies—or that you weren't. We've heard of your engagement."_

_"They are armies I _need _against you! Because England won't stop. And a quarrel between allies can be mended, Mr. Westbrook, but a quarrel between enemies will end badly for one."_

_"Which is exactly why we need to crush Scotland! So we are certain it won't rise against us."_

_Mary felt like everywhere she turned, any point she made, would be shot down with a more ridiculous argument from the Englishman's side. She was angered beyond belief._

_"You'll never leave me in peace."_

_"Someone has to make the first move. Someone has to instill trust. Leave France. Abandon the alliance you are trying to maintain." He goaded._

_"And trust you?" Mary scoffed._

_"You think you can trust the French? You have powerful enemies here and you know it, or you'd be screaming right now for the guards. Where were yours by the way? When we went into your room?"_

She sat up in bed and threw the covers off, suddenly feeling too hot. Simon was right, what was she doing with Francis? She was trying so hard to feel…_something. _Something that he would never feel for her. Couldn't she let him go? She slipped her feet into soft black boots and opened the door to her room, passing the sleeping guard posted beside her.

When she stopped at the right place, she knocked softly on the door and when it swung open she looked up.

"Mary?"

She pushed past Sebastian and sat down on his bed without care for the fact that it was unmade. His chambers were not unlike hers, with a dressing shade in the corner and a large bed in the centre. It was decorated in deeper tones, but she cast that thought aside. She beckoned for him to sit with her.

"I…I need help."

"Mary you should be in bed." He said, looking down at her as if she weren't even real.

"Sebastian, your brother has made me a promise. And…well, I know that he intends to keep it but I find our agreement dissatisfactory." Mary whispered.

"It's late, you're tired—can't this wait?" He yawned.

"No, Sebastian this isn't me being _tired. _I'm as awake as ever and I need this resolved."

"What needs resolving then? Because I was asleep—"

But she remained steadfast, "You care for me. I know that you do and I can't stop wondering if…if it could lead somewhere."

"Lead somewhere?" Sebastian hissed, "Mary, my brother is in love with you!"

"He made me a promise. He will protect me and my interests for the rest of our lives. Our alliance will stay strong."

"Then what is the problem?"

"He makes his promises and they are all well. But he left out one detail that I need.

"Sebastian, I need a husband. I need someone to rule alongside me and Francis cannot be that person. Francis feels that he can find me someone and that it is sufficient, but I cannot take anyone to marry. You've known me for as long as Francis has and you know that I don't settle for anything less than what I want."

"You don't want this Mary. You know you don't. Francis is the only thing you want. I don't want to be second place. I don't want to be settled for."

"Bash," she breathed, cupping his face in her hand and running her thumb over his stubble, "haven't you heard me? I am not settling. I want you. Francis and I are nothing. We are holding alliances. You can't convince me otherwise. I care for you Sebastian. Please—"

"I love you, Mary. Truly. But even if you were not settling for me—_which_ you are—Francis cares for you and he may not want to admit it fully, but it is true. He loves you too, and _that _is why he is keeping us apart. Because it would hurt him if I married you. He already feels as if our father prefers me, and if he felt the same of you then he would be devastated. I could not do this to my brother." Bash said, taking her hand away and placing it in her lap. He looked beaten.

"Sebastian," she tried, a final attempt, "Francis is blood. Blood cannot betray you. If he loves you as much as you do him, he will come around to this idea. You know that. You must count on it for our sake."

"Mary," he sighed, eyes meeting hers in the dim light of the moon. He looked ready to protest again, but Mary caught his bottom lip with hers, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and holding him gently.

She wasn't surprised when he climbed atop her and stroked her sides gently through her nightgown. In fact she was pleased by the action. She'd hoped he would want this.

He wasn't dressed in quite as many clothes as usual, Mary noticed, as her fingers touched his bare chest with minimal struggle. Her fingers found his heart and it beat wildly in his chest, thrumming beneath his left nipple. She'd begun to notice that her legs were cold as he pushed the cloth up her body, stroking her thighs with callused thumbs. His lips travelled over her chin and down her neck, gentle and steady with moderate speed. With him between her legs now, she felt right. As if things were going the way she wanted. She never had the chance to tell Colin 'no'.

But now, she had the chance to tell Sebastian 'yes'.

**A/N: Hi all! Hope you like this new chapter :). I have exams coming up but I thought I'd put this on for you all. I've also made a trailer for this story and the link will be in my Biography. If you haven't already, you should also check out my Teen Wolf fanfiction-Human! Review!**


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